


Not much more than a single breath

by hawkass (eversingingleaves)



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Serious Injuries, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversingingleaves/pseuds/hawkass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he hadn’t been unconscious, there’s no way they would have been able to get him into medical without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not much more than a single breath

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unknown](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/12967) by lettiebobettie. 



If he hadn’t been unconscious, there’s no way they would have been able to get him into medical without a fight. As it was, Clint was in no shape to protest- massive concussion sustained through a fall. Well, if you could count being pushed off a skyscraper by a HYDRA agent as a ‘fall’ and crashing into a crumpled heap on the nearest roof a ‘landing’. His comm had been knocked out, making its own little pile of wires twenty feet from him and all contact had been lost with the asset for the duration of the rest of the mission. It had only been luck that the Hulk had seen the enemy agent fleeing and traced his steps backwards.

‘Cupid’ had been summarily found and transported and treated, lines of fluid and wires connected him to monitors that beeped an incomprehensible symphony, drugs to keep him asleep leaking into his vein with ever sleepy beat of his heart.

He looked so young when asleep, so very defenseless and so much more like the young asset he’d been once, in the rain, on a mission where he’d made a different call. Stealing a glance down the hallway, Natasha silently shoved a chair under the doorhandle. The hospital bed squeaked when she rested her weight on its edge.

Clint didn’t move; he was so far under she was sure he wouldn’t remember her visit.

She took his hand delicately, examining the bruised knuckles, the gentle push of the needle into his forearm, the slow and thready beat of his pulse. 

“You had better come back to me. I’ll kill you myself if you don’t,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. His hand tightened, fingers spasming as a delicate sigh escaped his lips. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m serious, Barton.” She slid closer, lining her hip up with his and earning herself another twitch of his hand.

“Come back to me, Clint,” she whispered, laying her head on the pillow next to him. When his hand tightened around hers once more, it didn’t relax. The fingers twined into hers, a gesture they never allowed between them but his fingertips brokered no argument.

“Tasha-“ The word was the barest whisper, not much more than a single breath, but it meant everything.


End file.
